


Beer Goggles

by Soobiebear



Category: Megadeth
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-12
Updated: 2015-01-12
Packaged: 2018-03-07 06:43:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3165170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Soobiebear/pseuds/Soobiebear
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written as a gift for ravingc in 2011. The prompt was 'Dave Mustaine,David Ellefson (Megadeth): Babydeth—Dave meets David and gets this weird warm feeling inside that's he's never had before. Not even with the hottest chicks. And David's a dude! Oh fuck! How to procede?.'</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beer Goggles

The editor was getting on him again. He had to talk to his ghostwriter if the book was ever going to be written. 'He's not a miracle worker' the editor kept telling him. Dave wanted to write his own book - after all, who knew his life better than him? Other than David, who could maybe fill in a few of those years that were missing.  
  
Dave wanted to write his story the way he wanted it told, not some jackoff desk jockey hashing things out for the tabloids. This guy the publishers gave him was a waste of flesh, always poking his nose into things and asking questions Dave didn't want to answer. Questions about David and how they met, constantly coming up with different ways to ask the same fucking questions even after he'd already been given the answer. The answer David and him had come up with years ago.  
  
One night after another fight with Pam and Electra being a teenage diva, Dave sat with a bottle of wine at his computer and went through his emails and forum posts. The ghostwriter emailed him again and he reluctantly opened it, rolling his eyes at what was certain to be another question about his fucked up family life or runs to rehab.   
  
_Tell me again what happened when you first met David._  
  
He closed the email and went back to his surfing, pissed off that the guy had the balls to ask him again for the millionth time and waste the electrons.  
  
An hour later he was draining the last of the bottle and running out of parachuting places to check out. Dave clicked back to his email, the same message from the writer popping up again as 'urgent'.  
  
 _Tell me again what happened when you first met David._  
  
He moved to click it shut again and delete the stupid question, but the sermon this morning at church had been about honesty and honesty with ones self. How long had they been lying for? Twenty five years? It had mutated into something that involved beer and flower pots and everyone bought it after years of being told and retold. It was time to stop living the lie.  
  
It was time to stop.  
  
He began to write.  
  
 _I know you've been asking this question for a long time now, trying to get me to crack and spill my guts like a good little tattle-tale.  
  
You get one fucking chance at this and if you ever, *ever* fucking publish it I will kill you. After this you'd better shut up and keep your nose out of anywhere I don't tell you to put it.  
  
The apartment story is fake, always has been. Junior and me came up with it because the real story was fucking faggoty and it wasn't metal enough and would have damaged our careers. Never mind what Lars fucked himself on every chance he got, Megadeth didn't work that way.  
  
I met David at Gazarri's where all of us metalheads and rockers used to play and hang out when we weren't playing before it turned into a fag bar. It was a dump. It was dark and reeked of piss and vomit and dead rats. The chicks that went there were always hot, and if they were brave enough to set foot in there we knew they were up to fuck and not some uptight princess. I think it was a Possessed show, and the normal handful of hot chicks were there mixed in with a room full of fucking angry dudes.   
  
One had to be on the top of his game to get a chick from all those guys, but I was pretty good at it and didn't have a problem. The girls were normally as fucked up as I was and if I didn't bullshit them with a relationship they were happy with a blowjob in the toilet.  
  
I saw this really hot chick from behind at first. Skin tight jeans, long hair, really getting into it. I circled around her a bit, making sure no linebacker guy would beat the shit out of me but she looked alone which wouldn't last long. I followed her to the bar and stood next to her, my air of 'fuck it all' in full force. I was a fucking bastard back then. Usually it drew the ones I wanted in and kept the clingy bitches away.  
  
Time seemed to slow down in one of those sappy movie type ways. I didn't realized how fucked up it was until a few days later. She was tall and thin, hair was feathered just perfectly even after headbanging and she had the slightest sheen of lipgloss. She looked fuckable to me.  
  
I tried my bit on her and she looked me over, chugging down her beer like a pro. It was so dark in the bar you couldn't really tell if they were going to slap you or kiss you until they were on top of you and by then it was too late. She set her beer down and leaned toward me, gabbing my hand and pressing it to her chest.  
  
'No fucking tits dude,' she whispered into my ear, rubbing my palm over her flat chest.  
  
There was nothing to grab on to and oddly enough I didn't fucking care. I knew I wanted, even if the chick had lost her tits somewhere. I'd seen a few girls with not much more than bugbites and as long as they wanted to fuck it was all good.  
  
I found a small, perked nipple and pinched it. The chest under my hand rose and I felt ribs. Damn she was thin, probably would buy some drugs offa me and it would be even better. My mind was already thinking ahead, when I would get to see her again. This bullshit was fucked, but what can you do? It happened so fucking fast even though it was in slo-mo. Some sort of warm emotional shit building up that I tried to supress. It was fucking with my game face.  
  
"I'm a fucking dude," he breathed in my ear again. "I've got a dick."  
  
He could have been saying he had a cock, but it sounded like _ 'I've got a clean bed and some beer at home come fuck me'. _Fuck, she even smelled good, not flowery like some of the other chicks did.  
  
'I don't fucking care.' I had to get my dick into there, I hadn't been this hard up in a long time and it was all her. There were suddenly chicks all over the place, tending bar, hanging out by the stage; fucking ugly hags. I was ready to cut and run from here, the drive back was gonna suck. Maybe she'd give me a handjob on the way back.  
  
I pinched her nipple again and found her ear. 'Wanna fuck?'   
  
She nuzzled into my hair and nipped at my ear. "Where?"  
  
I pulled her close and rubbed my cock on her. 'Right here if you keep it up.'  
  
Her hands fluttered over my waist, feeling her way around my belt. "I've never been with a guy before."  
  
'Fuck me,' I grunted and came in my pants. Fucking embarrassing, but that's life. I grabbed her and wheezed in her shoulder, coming down off the shock and trying not to pass out.  
  
"You, aaah... Did you just come?" she asked. I leaned back against the bar and lit a smoke. I was still hard. Fuck this shit.  
  
'You wanna go back to my place or what?' My beer was long gone, cleaned up by a bartender who wasn't gonna get a tip outta me, or stolen by some other broke ass douchebag.   
  
Blondie shrugged and picked up her pack of cigarettes, shoving them in a back pocket. "I guess," was all she said. "I live at the Sycamore Lanai off Hollywood if you want to head that way."  
  
I squinted at her in the dark light. No fucking way. 'I live there too. Second floor.'  
  
"Oh, I'm on the first floor." She smiled and was probably grateful for the ride home. A peice of ass in the same complex could be really useful. "You've probably heard me playing then, my amp doesn't work well on anything under 5."  
  
The monotonous lead in run from a Michael Anthony rattled through my brain. Many nights I was this close to throwing something out my window to get that fucker to shut up. _ No... _A hot chick who played bass no less. Fuck, I was gonna hit that all night and into next week. She chugged the rest of her beer and leaned in close again. "If you want me to get you off again, you'll have to make it back home first."_  
  
We did make it back to the apartment in record time and he did get me off again. I found my glasses the next morning and freaked out but not as badly as I thought I would have had you asked me the day before.   
  
So that's it. If you publish any of this anywhere I will have you killed, got it? Fucking shut up about me and Junior and write what I want in my book.  
  
The clock read eleven. Still to early for bed but Dave was worked up over the memories of David. He was still amazed his missed the adam's apple, the slight bit of stubble, the cut pecs, any number of things that clearly showed Junior wasn't a chick. He got up and made sure the door was locked, putting his browser in private mode and surfing over to a few places he hid from the rest of the world. He expected a few more days before the ghostwriter got back to him about his book. Perhaps David could be convinced to spend a night or two until Pam calmed down and came home again. It would be just like the old days.


End file.
